


Cold Feet

by asexualizing (Specialcookies)



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Cuddling, Established Relationship, F/F, Missing Scene, Sharing a Bed, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 19:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14940041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Specialcookies/pseuds/asexualizing
Summary: “What are you doing in my bed, Debbra?”Debbie comes to Lou's bed in the middle of the night. Lou minds, but really, she can't help herself.





	Cold Feet

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as a scene in a longer fic i'm working on, but ended up not fitting there and shifting into something else, so i'm posting it as a tid bit on its own.
> 
> Lou and Debbie's past is fascinating and frustrating to me and I have a lot of thoughts about it, so here are some vague ones, and some cuddling.

Cold feet rubbing at her calves, cold nose rubbing at her nape. Lou was very nearly asleep just moments ago, but if she were to tell the truth, she was listening to Debbie pacing around the apartment, sliding the door to Lou’s room open and hesitating near the bed, sneaking under the covers. She keeps her back to her as she asks: “What are you doing in my bed, Debbra?”

Debbie sneaks an arm around Lou’s waist, nuzzles against the back of her head. “You were right about heating this place up.”

“You’re walking around barefoot.”

“You stole my slippers.”

“Borrowed. And you stole them first.”

Debbie doesn’t respond to that. Instead, she slides a freezing palm under Lou’s t-shirt and kisses the line of her hair. Lou’s stomach clenches -- from the cold, from the _cold_ \-- and she covers up a sigh with a scold. “You’re very bad at this whole cuddle thing.”

“Turn around and teach me how to do it, then,” Debbie mumbles, sounds exhausted in a way that makes Lou wonder why the hell is she even awake still, scraps her teeth gently, lazily on Lou’s neck. 

Lou struggles to swallow. “This isn’t smart,” she whispers, because it never was, it never will be -- Debbie and her, they run too fast when they’re together, like roller skating down a hill; they’ll end up crushing. They already did.

But Debbie’s palm is rising goosebumps all over Lou’s body, and she can’t move.

“Lucky thing _we’re_ smart.” Debbie kisses the juncture of her shoulder, where her shirt has fallen down, oversized. “Come on,” she brings her hand from Lou’s stomach to tag at Lou’s arm. “Turn around.”

It takes her forever to bring her body to do as she tells it -- at least that’s what it feels like, with Debbie’s breath ghosting over the shell of Lou’s ear -- but eventually, Lou does. She takes Debbie’s freezing hands between hers and rubs Debbie’s freezing soles with hers.

“Thanks,” Debbie smiles tiredly up at her. Lou breathes out something that should sound like _no problem_.

In the little light that’s coming from the hall, Lou can see the black circles under Debbie’s eyes. Can see, when her smile drops, the lines around the corners of her mouth. She had missed Debbie more than she cares to admit, more than she cares to fully comprehend. She never allowed herself to think what it was like for Debbie in there, because she never allowed herself to think about Debbie. Not about her laughter, ringing on a beach in the good days, when they made good money; not about the sharpness of her tongue, both in talking and in kissing; not about the way the corners of her mouth would curl upward when Lou did something smart, smart enough for an Ocean to appreciate; not about the quickness of her pace and not about her absence.

But it’s all coming back now, crushing -- too fast. She’s starting to remember why they always do this, even though this isn’t smart.

“What are you really doing in my bed, Debbra?” she whispers.

Debbie inches closer to her, ducks her head against her chest. “I came down to make tea.”

Lou kisses the top of her head. She used her shampoo. “And?”

“And you were right here, and I didn’t want to sleep alone.”

Satisfied with the temperature of Debbie’s feet and palms, Lou slides her fingers in Debbie’s hair, a mess of a mane that is tickling Lou’s neck. “I can never tell you no,” she mutters, massaging Debbie’s scalp like she hopes she still likes.

Debbie hums, content. “Why is that a problem?”

“You know it is.”

Debbie brings her hand to Lou’s hip, squeezes, runs her thumb over the bone. She doesn’t say a word. There isn’t anything to say; Lou doesn’t want to hear it, anyway. Debbie gets cold feet when she’s bored -- goes down to make tea barefoot, or runs away from the boredom -- and she won’t apologize for that; Lou’s not sure she should. They are better off not talking through that. They are better off trying to forget about that.

Five years, eight months, twelve days. It’s too much time to linger on.

With one last kiss to Debbie’s forehead, she says: “Turn around.”

Debbie does it effortlessly, like anything else she does, brings her back flush to Lou’s chest and covers the arms that Lou has wrapped around her with her own.

She yawns, and Lou smiles against the back of her head. “Go to sleep, jailbird.”

She shifts her head on the pillow until she’s comfortable, and Lou pulls her closer.

“Missed you,” Lou thinks she’s saying, the words almost unintelligible as Debbie’s on the brink of slumber.

Before Lou can decide if to reply, and how, Debbie’s snoring; soft and just the sound that Lou remembers waking up to in the middle of the night. Lou lays her head down, lets the tension go, sinks into the warmth of Debbie’s body.

She drifts in and out of sleep until sunrise, but Debbie’s always there. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm also on [tumblr!](https://straperine.tumblr.com/)


End file.
